


the present pouring down: the roar

by waitfortheclick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, Identity, Memory Loss, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 23:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10604400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitfortheclick/pseuds/waitfortheclick
Summary: Just who is Meg Masters, the demon?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written about 4 years ago but I actually did edit this one a bit just before posting it here.

The truth is, if she absolutely had to tell you the truth, Meg doesn’t remember. It’s easier to let them all think what they want, to let them fill in the blanks, than to admit she borrows names because she doesn’t know her own.

Sometimes she wonders if Ruby was telling the truth about remembering, or if it was just a bullshit party trick.  A manipulation tactic.  Let the poor saps think what they want, that she knew what it was like, could recall the banality of being human. If she wasn’t lying, well, Meg was too embarrassed to ask.

Sometimes she thinks that whatever it was she did was so bad they must have fried her extra crispy, a special temperature of heat just for her. Or maybe she held out for so long before submitting on the rack, there were too many years between what she was and what she became.

Maybe she was just scared, boring and scared and weak, so she lost it; just couldn’t hold on.

Either way, she watches people, television, pays attention to personality quirks, learns how to make a body hers when she doesn’t know who she is. If the other demons have the same problem they don’t show it.  She’s quick to dismember anyone who starts whispering behind her back. She quickly builds up a sense of self with an animal ferocity at the center; something more feral than anger or vengeance.

When she hears murmurs of Lucifer’s rising, words like “duty”, and “faith” insinuate themselves into her consciousness.

When that falls through, she finds herself developing a confidence she’s never really known, something not steeped in furtive self-consciousness. She’s built up a reputation and cares a little less about being found out. She has an identity, and it’s a little complicated, which makes it feel that much more real.

She’s making unlikely allies and unexpected enemies.

Every once in a while, though, she’s talking or thinking or reading and feels for a moment as if she’s taken a step where there’s nowhere to step, a sense of vertigo.  As if she's descending a staircase and come, unexpectedly, suddenly, to the bottom.  Except it’s all in her head: the crashing feeling of remembering everything she doesn’t know. No one notices, so she calms herself, counts five details about her surroundings, and doesn't kill anything that doesn't need to be dead.

No one, except Castiel, who gives her the most infuriating little smiles and sympathetic eyebrows. There’s no way he could know, how can you even check for that? How can you search for nothing? But still she burns with anger and shame and says, “Keep it in your pants, Clarence." 


End file.
